


Skin Tight

by Leyenn



Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Decontamination, Forced Nudity, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Multi, Nudity, OT3, Ritual Sacrifice, Secret Relationship, Sharing Body Heat, Strip Chess, Stripping, Three Person Chess, Threesome, Threesome – F/M/M, Wounds, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: Getting naked around each other is normal way more often than it's sexual. But sometimes that means those other times are even more fun.Prompt: stripping.
Relationships: Jack O'Neill/Samantha "Sam" Carter/Daniel Jackson
Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911157
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Skin Tight

**Author's Note:**

> Three person chess is an actual game, so of course they would play it.

**1.**

Sam has a distant memory, so far back she sometimes thinks it's a dream, of actually caring about any of them ending up naked together.

She can't place when, or where, or why. She doesn't remember being that person, especially at moments like this.

"Get these things off," Daniel says, matter-of-fact. His fingers pluck gingerly at the hem of Jack's t-shirt – or at least, at the layer of mud that's now covering Jack's t-shirt, and most of the rest of him. "Unless you want to freeze to death before morning."

Jack makes a face around his already chattering teeth, but he manages to ride the plastered cotton up until it's under his armpits with only the most judicious application of fingertips. 

"Here," Daniel says, beckons him closer to the fire Teal'c has roaring in the mouth of the cave. She watches as Daniel puts both hands on Jack's chest and slides them up under the neck of the t-shirt, pulling it back from Jack's face to let him get it off the rest of the way without redistributing even more mud than he's already had to.

She flips out the emergency blankets and the bedrolls into what looks to be the driest and flattest spot in their limited space. She doesn't want to risk getting any bedding wet, so instead she strips off her outer jacket on her way back to the fire and drapes it around Jack's bare shoulders, where Daniel's tugging off his boots and adding them to the mud pile that's accumulating by the entrance. 

His temperature must be dropping fast, she thinks, because he doesn't even make a wise crack when Daniel reaches for his belt, not even when his pants are open and Daniel's hands are sliding inside. 

Instantly Daniel makes a face, and it's one she doesn't associate with him having his hands on Jack's ass. "Guess these are coming off, too," he says, and peels Jack's boxers down along with his pants. Jack snorts under his breath.

"Lot of effort you guys are going to, to get me naked," he mutters. He sounds half drunk. Daniel sighs fondly.

"I was afraid you were out of it already. Sam, help me get him up so I can get these off." 

Jack's heavy for her to lift, but with both hands under his arms she manages to help from behind, quickly wraps her arms around his waist to keep him steady while Daniel pulls each mud-caked leg off in turn. 

"Over here," she says, when Daniel hops back to his feet. Jack's shivering even in the six feet it takes before they lower him back down, into the nest of bedding she's created; Daniel lets her go down with him and drags the blankets over them both. Sam slides her arms around him and presses herself up close, watching Daniel strip his own clothes off with just the same efficiency and twice the speed he worked on Jack's, and practically dive under the other side of the blanket. It's only when she can feel his hands on Jack's skin, mirroring her own, that she pulls back and tugs open her own belt. 

She shuffles her pants down, kicks them off out of the blankets and quickly snaps her feet back in. The air is warmer than it was on the other side of the fire, where Teal'c's standing watch, but it's still chilly. At least Daniel's hands are warm, when she tugs her shirt off and presses back into Jack's side. 

"Jack?" Daniel's voice is close, as if they're all curled up in a too-small bed on Earth instead of every possible blanket any of their kits can provide. She snuggles in, trying to arrange her arms back into the tangle, burrowing her face into Jack's neck.

"Mm." Jack's head turns just enough for her to feel it. "Huh."

"Don't get any ideas," Daniel says. "You're practically hypothermic right now. Think you can get some sleep?"

"Hm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"'m not the one who's gettin' ideas," Jack mumbles. Despite the situation, Sam can't help a giggle. 

"Daniel?"

"It'll go away," he says, sounding more exasperated than anything else. "Go to sleep, the both of you."

She tries to make sure she's breathing in as slow and steady as she can, breathing out warm air against Jack's neck. "What about you?"

Daniel chuckles tiredly. "Ah, I'll be awake for a while, trust me." 

"This planet sucks," Jack says, slurred but with a great deal of feeling, and then he's asleep between them.

  


* * *

  


**2.**

Daniel's dragging his t-shirt over his head even before he dives into the airlock. She's only a step behind him, not even a step, and she actually feels Jack's hands on her waist for a moment as she stops, he's so close behind that.

The airlock hisses and slams and hisses some more as the decontamination sequence starts to cycle. It's cold, it's always cold, but she'd rather be cold than dead. She strips her own shirt over her head, grabs Daniel's where he's thrown it to the ground and shoves them both into the medical waste bin that some sensible soul has thought to provide. 

"Colonel." She holds out a hand, and he shoves his cap and shirt into it. By the time she's added them to the bin he's on the floor, unlacing his boots with steady but fast fingers.

Daniel kicks off his own boots, reaches for his belt: she sees his hands starting to shake and puts hers over top of them, pushes his fingers aside.

"Here, let me." 

"Carter," Jack says, from the floor. A boot goes sailing behind her back into the disposal bin.

"In a minute." 

The other boot. "No, _now._ "

"Sam," Daniel says. She's shoving his pants and briefs down, dropping to the floor herself: when he can step-hop out of them she lets go, turns her attention to her own boots and socks. Her hands were steady, a second ago, but now her fingertips are going numb and she has to wrench the second boot off rather than finish the laces. 

"Get her up," Jack says, above her. Daniel's hands are still trembling but brook no argument, sliding under her arms and pulling her back to her feet. Jack's standing naked in front of her, and her mind only grasps that he's _entirely_ naked when he lifts her tags over her head, pools them into his hand along with theirs.

Daniel's trying to get her bra off, failing: Jack's fingers meet his on her skin, push under the lower edge and pull up. His knuckles graze her nipples, tight already with only a thin layer of fabric against the cold - but it's a flicker of pleasure and then she's shoved it down for later, locked in a box the same way Jack is bundling the rest of their clothes into the waste bin. 

Daniel hands her underwear over, the last thing to go, and then Jack slams the lid down and smacks the huge red _decontamination shower_ button on the wall.

The next door slides open and Daniel herds her inside, Jack right behind them. She's already got the water running before the door is completely closed – it's tepid, but at least she's expecting it, and it's better than the cold draught of moving air over hurriedly naked skin. 

Jack crowds in close to her and pushes a bottle into her hands. She doesn't even look, just squeezes a palmful and passes it on to Daniel. The scent is mild but chemical, like detergent. She supposes that's what it is. It stings a little in her eyes, but then she's not exactly trying to be careful or leisurely about it.

"Here," Jack says, quietly. His fingers touch her forehead, scrape a line of soap from sliding into her eyes and slick her hair back. 

"Thanks," she murmurs back, and turns to get her head properly under the spray. The room keeps turning after she stops but Daniel's hand grabs her arm just before she stumbles, other hand moving to the small of her back.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay." She gropes around with the other hand for something solid, and comes up with Jack's forearm suddenly across her torso. 

"Dizzy?"

She closes her eyes for a second. "Yeah."

"Hang on." His hand is in her hair, tilting her head back to wash out the soap. "Thirteen minutes. You gonna be okay that long?"

The room seems content to stay still as long as she does. "Yeah."

"Okay." He doesn't remove his arm, though, and she doesn't let go. Daniel's hand is still on her back, warmer than the water. Between the two of them she feels steadier, even though her fingertips are still tingling.

"How much exposure, do you think?" Daniel asks it quietly, not quite casually.

"Minimal," Jack says. "We'll be out by dinnertime, you wait."

"Not enough to do any permanent damage," she agrees. She can still feel her lungs, that's a very good sign. "I don't think we breathed any in. You both sound fine. My fingers are numb, is the worst of it. Yours?"

"Feels like frostbite," Jack says. "Not the best memory."

She almost shivers in agreement. Daniel flexes his fingers against her back.

"Tingling," he concludes. "Like pins and needles."

"You probably got a little less of it." The water won't have changed, but it _feels_ like it's getting colder. "How much longer?"

"Eleven minutes." Jack steps in closer, just enough to let the water still run between them and yet close enough she can feel the warmth of his skin. "Body heat," he says, over her head. Daniel nods and curls himself in a little closer, too, his hand sliding to her hip so that she's bracketed between his arm across her back and Jack's across her stomach. 

Ten minutes.

  


* * *

  


**3.**

Frasier has to sleep sometime, Jack supposes. It's just damned annoying when she chooses to do it on days when they all end up in her infirmary.

There's a shuffle, and then a clang and a muffled curse from somewhere to his left. Then Daniel's voice, mirroring his own irritation.

"Damn it – is anyone not trussed up to one of these things?"

"Hold on," Carter says, somewhere further over. There's a pause, another shuffle and a grunt, and then the sound of rings sliding on the rail and Daniel's breathed, " _Thank_ you." 

A moment later and the curtain around his bed is shoved back, too, to reveal Carter standing there with her tank tucked up into her bra and pants half-off on one side, holding a clean white patch of dressing to her thigh with a very familiar look of frustration and relief in her eyes. Just behind her, Daniel's still laid out on the bed where he was before Jack lost sight of them, except now his chest is bare and he's stuck with the usual EEG sensors, attached to an IV and a monitor that's blipping quietly beside his head. At the end of the row, past Carter's currently empty bed, Teal'c is lying impassive with his own heart monitor blipping out of time with Daniel's and one leg in a splint.

"Thanks," Jack says, gives Carter a smile. "You okay?"

It's a rhetorical question, at least about the various wounds peppered across her body – she walked three miles back to the gate on that thigh without complaint, and that's probably the worst of them – and she knows it, smiles back at him with the frustration fading back behind that relief now she can see them all. He knows how she feels. 

He's not sure if Frasier knows exactly how much they're used to each other's bodies – they all agree they've never told, but she is their doctor – but either way, she knows how to add two and two to get four, because after the second time walking back into the triage ward to find SG-1 injured, in varied states of undress and with the curtains shoved back between them, she'd just stopped trying.

Unfortunately her new deputy is a transfer in from somewhere more normal than the SGC and doesn't seem to have got the memo, nor be able to take a hint even if it's a mile wide.

Carter gives him a reassuring smile. "She went to get a suture kit. I'm gonna look like Bride of Frankenstein for a while, but it'll all heal."

"Good." She's close enough for him to stretch out a hand for hers, so he does, gives her fingers a quick squeeze. "You can't rig these damn things somehow?"

"I'll talk to Janet." She obviously means about Doctor Privacy, rather than the curtains. "How are you feeling?"

He almost rolls his eyes, then thinks the better of it when the floor starts tilting. "Yeah. Peachy."

She squeezes his fingers in return. "Whatever's in that IV should kick in soon."

"Yeah." He puts his head back slowly onto the pillow. "Gimme a hand here, would you?"

Her smile turns a little more private, but it's not like anyone's going to see, or care if they do. At least between his somewhat uncoordinated body – concussion can really go to hell – and the one hand she has spare, they manage to get him lying down on his side rather than staring up at the ceiling, without tearing the IV out. With all three of them in his eyeline, safe and alive, he can actually let the tension down his spine start to relax; it also turns out the room doesn't spin as much when he's focusing on Daniel's drumming fingers rather than just an expanse of grey concrete.

Carter's hand lingers on his shoulder for just a moment, with that same warm smile. She steps back, but she's not nearly fast enough to get back to her bed before the doc walks back in, pushing a cart arrayed with various medical torture devices.

"Major Carter!"

Jack's the only one who sees Carter roll her eyes, catches her mouthed _oh, great_ , flashes her a grin of camaraderiebefore she turns around.

"Doctor Powell."

Powell. Powell. He's got to try and remember that. He probably won't, at least this time around.

"You really should not be moving around. Please," and she gestures to Carter's assigned bed. Jack figures at least she's nice about it, even if she's utterly devoid of a clue.

Carter hobbles carefully back to the bed, and incidentally manages to pass close enough to Daniel to touch fingers, too. Jack smiles to himself as Daniel's EEG actually slows a few beats. Yeah, the doc really can't read the room even when it's up on her own damn machines.

The monitor must distract his already not entirely focused brain, because he somehow doesn't notice that Carter's also executed some truly impressive sleight of hand on her way past, until Powell goes to draw the curtain between her bed and Daniel's – and can't, because Daniel, who couldn't reach it before, has a good firm grip and isn't letting go for anything.

Powell frowns. It's somewhere between annoyance and confusion. 

"Doctor Jackson, please, I need to stitch Major Carter's wounds now." She sounds like she's trying to gentle a recalcitrant child. "Major…?"

But Carter doesn't hop back onto the bed. Instead she just looks at her, straight on. It's that same _you underestimate me_ look that's stared down more enemies than he can count, up to and including a loaded staff weapon in her face and a symbiote three inches from her spine. 

She doesn't break that look for a second, just grabs the open waist of her pants with her free hand and pushes them down as far as she can bend, which is just far enough to be able to shuffle a little and step out of them one leg at a time. There's another set of scratches all the way down her left calf, he notices idly. Probably not more stitches, but they're gonna sting in the shower for a few days. 

Powell's eyes widen with obvious concern. "Major, please sit down."

He sees the subtle shift of her expression, the way she's setting her teeth as she carefully lets go of the dressing on her thigh: and with one quick, easy motion of both hands, strips her tank the rest of the way off over her head.

It should not be that fucking _hot_ , he thinks, to watch Carter strip while staring unwaveringly at someone who isn't him and isn't Daniel. It's not even the kind of hot that gets his cock interested in the proceedings, even if his body cared about anything other than dizziness and nausea right now. It's that huge, burning passion that goes directly to his hindbrain, the same thing that would make him walk through hell just because she asked him to. She's glorious, and the fact that she's standing there in only her SGC-issue underwear legitimately has nothing to do with it.

There's a long, dark stain across the right breast of her bra, where blood has obviously soaked through the military-blue fabric. He guesses she hadn't even noticed it among the array of other cuts and bruises, until now.

Powell obviously notices too. She reaches out a gloved hand, as if to edge down the strap of Carter's bra and get a better look. "May I?"

Carter hooks the fingers of both hands under the fabric, one under each breast, and peels the bra off just as easily, tosses it over to join her tank top on the end of her empty bed. 

Daniel hisses a wince out through his teeth. "Jeez, Sam, how did you not feel that?"

Jack's with him on that one. The cut is obviously deep, right across the swell of her breast, probably only bled less than her thigh because her bra's soaked most of it and provided an unintentional field dressing. At least it doesn't look too long; the tacky blood around it probably makes it look larger than it is, but it's still another set of stitches. Jack feels a twinge of sympathetic pain at the idea, because that one's gonna be sensitive.

"Doctor Jackson, please!" Powell looks scandalised. "My patient needs some privacy, she does not need you looking."

Jack's about had enough of this. And his head is spinning again. "Chill out, would ya, doc? We're all adults, for crying out loud." He tries, he really does, but he can't resist. "At least it's warm enough in here."

" _Colonel!_ "

Daniel hurriedly smothers a laugh, but he does manages to smile over at Carter. "We can not look, if you want, Sam."

"Just close your eyes while she's stitching." Carter puts both hands back onto the bed and hoists herself up, with a slight wince of her own when her thigh makes contact. "We don't need you passing out on top of everything."

"That was one time," Daniel pouts, over Teal'c's, "That was a unique incident," from the end bed.

Powell gives Carter a look of honest-to-god desperation. "Major, I really should close these curtains. Policy-"

"Please don't." There's a note of vulnerability in Carter's voice; though Jack's sure it's sincere, he's also pretty sure she's only letting it show because she's as tired of this nonsense as the rest of them. "It's fine. Really. We just need…" She swings herself back, winces again at bringing her leg up. "We just need to be able to see each other. Please."

Powell doesn't look happy, but she sighs and pulls the suture cart up to the bed. "Well… all right. Just this time."

Carter's naked on the bed but for her shorts and her own blood, but she suddenly looks more relaxed than if she were in full tac gear. "Thank you."

It's probably the first time any of them have said it out loud, he realises. He makes a firm mental note to talk to Fraiser and make sure none of them ever have to say it again.

  


* * *

  


**4.**

Pain cracks across the back of his knees, knocking him to the ground with a grunt despite his best efforts. His left knee becomes one big hot ball of agony all over again, and he's only saved from faceplanting into the polished marble by someone roughly yanking back on the ropes holding both arms behind his back.

"Thanks," he mutters, through gritted teeth, with as much sarcasm as he can muster. Whichever guard it is doesn't even have the manners to say _you're welcome_. 

He'd probably have broken his nose, but he almost wishes they'd let him fall. Then he wouldn't have to be looking at what they're obviously intent on making him look at.

Up on the dais no more than twenty feet in front of him, Daniel is bound by the same kind of roughly woven rope as he is, on his knees in front of the altar, another length of rope tying him to a hole drilled straight through one of the stone pillars. These guys aren't fooling around, either: that leash is taut, only just enough length not to strangle him so long as he stays up on his knees, and tight enough around his neck that Jack can see where the skin is already red raw. His arms are only tied at the wrists, at least; Jack can feel the rope wound all the way from his own wrists up to his elbows, no way in hell he gets free without help.

If Daniel can get his hands free, somehow, or if Teal'c and Carter made it back to the gate in time –

Feet drag against the marble somewhere behind him. Muffled sounds, angry and desperate, and then a familiar _crack_ and grunt of pain, and Carter drops to her knees beside him.

 _Shit_.

He waits for the last shoe to drop, but there's a small mercy: no sign of Teal'c. He risks a look at Carter.

Her arms are bound like his, elbow down to wrist, tight enough to be pulling her shoulders back, but she's obviously put up too much of a fight because there's a rope added around her neck, hooked into the knots around her arms. He can see even more clearly than Daniel's where she's fought against it enough to draw blood.

He wonders with savage pride whether one of these bastards is wearing her teeth marks, too, because there's a gag in her mouth, roughly made from the homespun linen that's the prevailing fashion choice here. 

She must feel him looking, because she looks back at him. Her eyes are full of fury, blazing and fierce. He tries not to think about what the hell happened on the way to the gate to get her in this state, just hopes to god that Teal'c got through and there's a rescue team on the way.

Someone grabs his hair and yanks his head round to look at the altar. From the muffled growl beside him, he guesses they've done the same to Carter.

Daniel's still up on his knees but his head is bowed, as if he's either lost the strength to fight the ropes any more or he's just trying to conserve it. Jack really hopes it's the latter, but he's also got no idea how long Daniel's been up there. If it's the entire sixteen hours he's been captured…

One of the priests – Daniel had suggested priests, and the blood-soaked altar and golden idols all over the place certainly seem to lend weight to the theory – steps forward. The long, curved knife in his hand also adds an unpleasant item of evidence to the 'ritual sacrifice' idea.

He scrabbles his socked feet on the marble, trying to get a purchase, but it's too smooth and the guard behind him has too good a grip. In the corner of his eye, Carter has only an inch of better luck before she's yanked back by the rope around her neck: he hears her choke and start coughing, and up on the dais that's when Daniel lifts his head and looks at not the knife coming toward him, but at them.

"Carter." He hopes they're not likely to cut his tongue out or something. Not that it would stop him. "Don't. You'll just get hurt worse, that's not gonna help him."

He doesn't expect an answer around the gag, but he does hear her breathing change, just subtle enough that he's probably the only one who can hear it. _Good._ He's still desperately working on a plan, but whatever he comes up with, he's going to need her conscious for it and not choked half to death.

Daniel's eyes slide from Carter and lock onto his across the space between them, and Jack hangs onto that gaze for dear life. He doesn't want to see where that knife is going, but more than that, he doesn't want Daniel to see. _That's it, Daniel. Keep looking at me. Just keep looking at me. Pretend the crazy knife-wielding Goa'uld worshippers aren't even here._

The priest's shadow flickers over Daniel's face, cast by the huge firepits and the dozen or more torches, the only sooty light in the temple. Jack wills his eyes not to water, because he's not going to look away, not even blink. He's _not._

The knife moves. Jack's heart freezes. Beside him, Carter makes a desperate sound through the gag.

The sound of tearing hemp is loud in the otherwise silence, and Jack's heart starts beating again.

The priest drags Daniel – stumbling, shaking out his hands with a look of pain – to his feet. However long he's been there is too long, Jack thinks; his legs are obviously numb.

"Strip." 

Daniel frowns as if it's a language he doesn't know. His voice sounds just like someone who hasn't spoken for sixteen hours, with a rope tight around their throat. "Wh-what?"

"Strip." This time the knife closes in nowhere near any ropes.

Jack grits his teeth, faintly wonders what it'll take for them to give him something to bite down on, too. Preferably a limb belonging to that bastard up there. 

The knife point reaches the dead center of Daniel's chest, but the priest isn't even looking at it. He's following Daniel's gaze, and Daniel's looking right at Jack.

"You. Order him."

Well, this just went from critical to nightmare. "No."

"Order him, or he dies, and another will be given to the Gods." Jack doesn't think he imagines the way that bastard's gaze slides, oily and glazed over, two feet to his right.

That settles it. Nightmare. 

They're not even going to be _taken_ by the damn Gods. As far as Daniel could tell, the Goa'uld abandoned this place centuries ago, left the people here to rot the way they always do. The difference is that these whack jobs seem to think if they give an acceptable enough sacrifice to their statues, one of them will actually come back to life and take a host.

Apparently the sacrifice just includes more than straight up murder on the altar. Jack hopes, desperately, beyond desperately, that it's not as bad as his mind is conjuring up behind some very dark and very closed doors. He also hopes, even knowing it's pointless, that Daniel's not having those same thoughts.

But Daniel's going to die either way, if he doesn't do something. And the only thing he can think of is to give Teal'c time.

He swallows, his mouth tasting like bile. "Daniel." _I'm sorry. It'll be okay. We'll get out of this. I'm sorry._ "Do as he says."

The priest raises his head in triumph, and raises the knife – 

\- Jack yells, he doesn't even know what -

\- and the blade hooks into the neck of Daniel's t-shirt and tears straight down, slicing the fabric in two from hem to hem.

"The Gods will see, and judge whether they are pleased with our sacrifice." The priest steps back, though Jack notices very clearly that he doesn't sheath that damned knife. 

Daniel's gaze shifts back to him, and he can see the edge of fear left there. It's pounding through his own veins too, adrenaline he could really do without but might be able to make use of, at least.

_Go on, Daniel. You can do this. You can. They're all gonna be dead anyway after we get free, I swear. Go on. Give Teal'c the time he needs to save you. Please._

__Daniel doesn't blink, doesn't stop looking at him, just shrugs one shoulder far enough to twist that arm free of his ruined shirt.

Jack lets himself breathe again. He doesn't have to look, to feel Carter do the same beside him.

Daniel pulls the shirt slowly down the other arm, drops it to the floor. There's a thin line of blood down the center line of his bare chest, where the priest obviously wasn't too bothered about being careful in unwrapping his sacrifice, but otherwise at least he looks whole. His eyes only leave Jack's to shift sideways, and Jack wants to follow them but he doesn't dare, so he just waits and watches: Daniel's eyes locked onto Carter's like a laser sight, Daniel's fumbling hands unfastening his belt and tossing it aside.

And then it's his turn again, the way he knew it would be, holding that clear gaze up as Daniel pushes down his BDU pants and kicks them a few inches forward – a cushion in case he has to kneel again, Jack realises. _Good boy. Keep thinking like that. Think like we're getting out of here and we will._

It's Carter that Daniel's looking at when he strips off his briefs, but Jack doesn't even hear her breath change. 

And then Daniel's standing there beside that blood-red altar, naked but for his dog tags and the rope around his neck, and he doesn't seem to know which of them he needs to keep looking at – 

And a staff blast hits the priest square in the chest.

Daniel drops into a foetal ball at the same time as Jack throws himself sideways - hard enough to smack his head and see stars, but also hard enough to knock Carter to the ground and he just hopes, enough to dislodge the guard's grip on her. Finally, _finally,_ luck seems to be on their side, because she goes down cleanly and right in front of him, so close he can smell the tang of blood in her mouth and on her neck, can curl himself around her head as bullets start to fly above them.

The next thing he knows clearly is the sound of a knife sawing through rope somewhere very close, and then a familiar hand on his arm.

"Jack." Daniel's voice is hoarse, and sounds like it's going to be for a while, but it's calm and full of relief. "Are you okay?"

He's pretty sure he popped his shoulder out with that last move, but he just about manages to look up. Daniel's kneeling beside him wrapped in an emergency blanket, holding it closed with one fist. 

"Nngh. I should be asking you that."

Daniel's lips twitch, not quite a smile but working on it. "I've been worse."

"Carter-"

"Almost got it, sir," Reynolds says from close by. Then, "There you go, Major. Just take it easy getting up," which of course Carter ignores, pushes herself up on arms that must be as numb as his own and nearly collapses again until Daniel flails out and manages to catch her.

"You're next, sir," Reynolds says. Daniel's carefully working the gag out of Carter's mouth with one hand, but otherwise she looks like she's still in one piece, too. 

Jack closes his eyes and promptly lets himself black out.

  


* * *

  


**5.**

Jack has a real talent, Daniel thinks, with that familiar mix of fond exasperation and mild concern. It's one some anthropologists would probably kill for, at least in theory. If more academics knew what really goes on when the locals decide you're worthy of knowing _everything_ about them, they might not be so quick to want it.

He also makes a mental note to ask, when this is all done and they've somehow managed to get safely back home, if Jack has a thing for Greek mythology that he's not admitting to, because this seems to be a recurring theme. Or maybe it's just the Goa'uld who picked Greece were more into their bacchanalia than others, for some reason. There might even be a legitimate theory in there, somewhere.

For now, though, he needs to concentrate more on the gaggle of older women and young men who are definitely too insistent on separating Jack from the rest of the team. 

"Ah, no, that's all right. Please," he pushes away another offered goblet, gently but firmly. "I'm fine. Please. Thank you," he adds, in relief, when the young man holding it out bows and steps back. 

"Daniel," Jack says, in that _do your magic cultural thing now_ tone. 

"I don't think they want to hurt you," he says, keeps the polite smile on his face for the benefit of the partygoers. "I think they're just, ah… interested."

"I can tell that." Jack dodges another giggling pair of women and somehow manages to swerve back to Daniel's side. "It's the _interest_ I'm worried about." Suddenly he glances up, alarm flashing in his eyes. "Where's Carter?"

"With Teal'c." He hooks a hand around Jack's arm, just above the elbow, in reassurance but also in the hopes that these people are as mild-mannered as they seem and won't try to forcibly pull them apart. If he has to physically hang onto Jack all night to keep him from yet another native mishap, then that's what he's going to do. "Over there," he adds, nodding in the direction of the ornate couches they were all guided to at the start of the night. Sure enough, Sam's still seated, a goblet of her own in one hand though Daniel's one hundred percent certain she's accepted it purely for show. Beside her, Teal'c is seated in his most impassive Jaffa Warrior Escort pose, and there's a whole two feet of space around them that attests to the efficacy of his approach. "She's fine," he says. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Why is it always me?"

"If I had to make a guess, it usually has something to do with you being the leader. Maybe we should start working a rota instead."

"I knew there was a reason they paid me so much," Jack mutters. 

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, It's just hot in here."

"No, it's not." It's warm, granted, mainly from so many people, but it's a mild summer evening on a temperate planet and there's even a pleasant breeze wafting in between the outer pillars of the temple. _Oh, for god's sake._ "Jack, what did you eat?"

"Nothing!" Jack scowls at him, but it's already half trepidation. "No food, no drink, no bodily fluids. Swear on my life."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that." He can see a faint sheen of sweat breaking out over Jack's brow, down his neck. "Come over here, let me –"

He doesn't get any further with _let me take a look at you_ , because he's taken Jack's other arm with his free hand, and the skin is slick under his fingers in a way that makes his pulse jump in fear. He spins Jack around, a little rougher than he intended.

"Hey!"

It's not blood. _It's not blood._ Daniel makes himself breathe out. What it is, is a wide swathe of what looks like some kind of body paint, all the way down the back of Jack's upper arm. It's iridescent, with the look and feel of an oil slick: some kind of liquid nacre, possibly. There's a lot of it, whatever it is, and either hastily or accidentally applied – there's no small amount on the sleeve of Jack's t-shirt and daubed across the back of his ribs. 

"What's this?" He holds his fingers up in front of Jack's face. "Did you feel this?"

"No." Jack tries to twist to get a look, and Daniel has to grab him again to keep him from swaying. "Those sneaky… damn it, get it off me."

Daniel scrubs his own fingers hurriedly on the hip of his pants, and hopes that's quick enough and little enough that whatever this is will leave him alone. Sam and Teal'c don't need to deal with both of them being drugged up, again.

He turns Jack again, slower this time. The paint has already dried halfway down his arm, and it doesn't look like it's going to come away easily. "Let's get you out of here and break out the decontamination kit."

Within two steps Jack's stumbling, because of course he is. It's a small mercy that the mood of the partygoers around them seems to have changed, from excitement at Jack's presence amidst them to polite concern, backing away with bows and frowns to let them through. Daniel hasn't felt so much like the designated driver carrying an over-drunk college roommate home since… well, since he was the designated driver, carrying an over-drunk college roommate home.

"Whatever this is, I don't think they intended it to drug you, at least."

Jack blinks at him. "Oh? Why's that?"

"They're not following us. In fact they seem to be worried about you. Or they think I'm claiming my conquest, one or the other."

Jack puts one hand to his head. "Well I hate to break it to you, but I don't feel much like being claimed right now."

He has to smile. "We can make up for it later. Watch out for his arm," he says, quickly, as Sam reaches them from the other side, Teal'c looming in his finest form right behind her. "It's some kind of contact reaction. We need to get him clean and somewhere secure until it wears off."

At least the hut they were gifted – it's possibly theirs for eternity, the dialect has drifted and he couldn't be sure of the actual translation, but it seemed very formal – is only a few minutes' away. Guiding Jack down to the closest bed is mostly a matter of helping him fall safely, but at least between himself and Teal'c they manage it. Sam's already in the kit she's dragged to the side of the bed, handing him the decontamination kit and some alcohol gel for good measure.

"It's dried on pretty thoroughly." He snaps a latex glove over one hand and scrubs at the driest patch with two fingers. 

"You're never going to joke about leg waxing again," Sam teases, her hand lightly around Jack's calf. 

Jack grunts into the pillow he's faceplanted into. "Hot," he mutters, and scrabbles fingers at the arm of his t-shirt where the paint has dried already.

"It feels hot?" 

"I feel hot. Again." He pushes himself up on the unpainted arm, and Daniel doesn't really need him to have said it: he's sweating as if they've just run the ten miles to the gate and back. "Do I feel hot to you?"

Sam puts the back of her hand to his forehead. "A little feverish."

"Great," he sighs, and before Daniel can stop him, he's dragged the t-shirt off over his head and thrown it somewhere behind him. 

Sam makes a noise that's trying not to be a laugh, and not doing well at it. "Daniel…"

"Well it doesn't _look_ like it's an aphrodisiac." Oh, the things he never thought he'd have an instinct for. "His pupils are fine, he's not tried feeling any of us up, and there aren't any other obvious signs, at least not so far." He's looked a few times already to make sure, and he knows she will have, too.

"Just _hot,_ " Jack says, again, more firmly, and slumps back down onto the bed. 

Daniel smiles affectionately even as he takes Jack's arm in one latex-clad hand and starts cleaning. Minus the alien drugs and the rustic surroundings, he could enjoy this sight. "Yes, you are. Not so much like this, though."

"Too hot." Jack shoves his face back into the pillow and groans in frustration. "Goddamn it."

Sam hands him a pair of tweezers; he peels off a dry sample and scrapes one that's still a little tacky, and passes them back to her, and that's probably why both of them miss Jack's fumbling around until Teal'c says, with forced patience;

"Perhaps you should not do that, O'Neill."

Daniel glances back but it's too late, of course – Jack's kicking at his pants, which are now bunched down at one ankle, having somehow managed to pull one boot through them entirely. His free hand is already at the back hem of his boxers.

Sam reaches over and traps that hand under hers before he can pull them down, and Jack flinches at the pressure. She throws Daniel a frown, but her voice is calm concern. "Jack?" 

" _Hot,_ " he mumbles into the pillow. "Stings," like he's trying harder to enunciate that. "Like… fire ants."

Daniel winces and redoubles his efforts at cleaning this damned stuff off. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

Jack screws his face up. "No, really no."

"All right. Hold on," Sam says, and moves to the end of the bed. She starts unlacing his boots, quick and efficient, and Jack actually lets out a little sound of relief when she's able to finish getting his pants off. Then it's her hands pulling down his boxers, bunching them between her fingers, and Daniel feels a wave of gratitude for how thoughtful she can be – she's obviously trying to make as little skin contact as possible, with the fabric or her own hands. 

Then Jack is naked, except for the steel chain around his neck and the last remnants of paint coming off under Daniel's fingers. Daniel just hopes the silk sheet isn't too painful underneath him, but at least they got the finest thread count this place has to offer.

Sam takes a seat on the bed, beside the pillow. She's got the portable test kit in her hands, already working on the first sample, but she's looking down at Jack and speaking softly. "Is that any easier?"

"Mm." Jack nods. "Thanks…"

Sam smiles, her eyes sparkling behind her obvious worry. "Any time you want us to take your clothes off, you just say the word."

Jack snorts into the pillow, sounding like he might be biting into it. "Just no body paint, 'kay?"

"I'm putting it on the prohibited list," Daniel promises, and means it. He thinks he's got the last of the stuff off, at least. "Okay, that should do it. Let's just hope it's purely topical and this calms down quickly. I don't think you want to walk back to the gate naked in the morning."

"I will keep watch," Teal'c says, and heads for the door. Daniel catches Sam's little smile of amusement and trades her one of his own. 

"He's sweet when he's being all Jaffa chivalrous," she murmurs. Daniel chuckles, carefully peeling the gloves off without touching anywhere that's now smeared in iridescent fire ant paint. 

"I think there's still a part of him that thinks you'll kick his ass for looking."

"But not you?"

"Teal'c could still take me out with one hand." He wipes both hands quickly and then pops out some of his own antihistamines into his palm. "Jack, here. Take these, it might help."

Jack swallows them back without complaint, just a splutter when it's awkward to take a swig from the offered canteen in his current position. "Thanks," he gets out, through a quick cough, and puts his head back down.

Sam's hand moves to hover, tentative, just above his hair. Daniel can tell she wants to touch, that she only just stopped herself in time. He knows the feeling: whether or not it's life-threatening - and hopefully this isn't - this is the point in a crisis where he always feels helpless, having to wait and see if they've done enough.

"Sam," Jack murmurs. 

She lets her fingers drop just that final inch, barely even making contact. "Yeah, I'm here." 

"Wanna take my skin off."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I think it's a great idea." Jack groans. "God… no more welcome parties, that's it, we're done. I don't care if everyone thinks we're boring, we are _done_."

They're not, of course. There'll be another mission, on another world that doesn't quite believe they're not gods no matter what they say, and next time it'll be someone breathing on them, or shaking hands, or looking at them in the wrong way. But for tonight, Daniel just settles as comfortably as he can against the side of the bed and says, meaning it sincerely, "I'll put that in the report."

  


* * *

  


**6.**

"Tags don't count, Daniel." Jack looks up from nuzzling between her breasts to fix Daniel with a half-serious frown. His breath has been hot on her skin in between turns ever since he took her second knight and with it her t-shirt, but she's not complaining.

Daniel tosses his dog tags off to one side, drops to his hands and knees to crawl the few feet between them. "Oh, I don't know…" He reaches up to tangle his fingers in the chain around Jack's neck. "Feels like they count to me," he says, grinning, and uses that grip to draw Jack's head down for a kiss.

Sam has to admit that logically, she agrees with Jack, but the sight and sound of Daniel doing that is definitely blackmail enough to sway her.

"Sorry, but you're outvoted," she murmurs into Jack's ear from behind, and presses her lips to his bare shoulder. He groans into Daniel's mouth, and she hears Daniel laugh back at him, the chain going lax again across Jack's skin as he lets go.

"I knew we shoulda just played poker," Jack mutters, but he still claims another kiss anyway. 

"I'm terrible at poker," Daniel says, and flops down so that his head is almost in Jack's lap. 

"Precisely my point." Jack threads playful fingers into his hair and leans back on the other hand to look at her. "Your turn."

She glances at the board on the coffee table in front of her, but she's had her next move planned for a while now and it doesn't take much attention, which is good, since her attention is slowly slipping away with every extra expanse of skin that appears. She's really not doing herself any favors playing so well… but then there are varied definitions of winning at this game, and Sam has a definite idea of which one she'd prefer.

She moves her remaining bishop and lightly knocks Jack's queen off the edge of the board, spinning it off the table. Daniel snaps a quick hand out and catches it with a bright grin.

"At least tags count." He twirls the piece between two fingers.

Jack rolls his eyes. "Fat chance, I'm not wussing out like some people." Instead he gives Daniel's hair a final caress and then moves that hand to flick open his belt. A hitch of his hips up off the floor and okay, it's not technically in the rules, but she's not going to object when Daniel reaches up to help, drags his pants down and off past his feet.

Daniel tosses the offending clothing somewhere past the couch and stretches back out alongside Jack's bare legs. Sam can't help admiring the view: that long expanse of naked chest and thigh and calf, only interrupted by the briefs he's stubbornly managed to hang onto, even though they really aren't hiding his interest in the slow but steady progress of the evening. Jack's obviously appreciating the image, too, from the way he looks down and arches an eyebrow. 

"You going to make a move?"

Daniel rolls onto his stomach with a sudden, sultry smile. "Oh yeah, I think so," he says, eyes glittering, and drags himself in those last inches to press an open mouth to the already obvious tent in Jack's grey boxers.

Jack groans and drops back onto his elbows, pushing his hips up against Daniel's mouth. "Ah, come on, no fair…"

Sam leans over and grins down at him. "You didn't think you were going to win, did you?"

His hand curls behind her neck, strong and insistent. "Ah, you had us both in about six moves anyway," he says, grins back at her with pride, and pulls her down to him.

  


* * *

  



End file.
